


Fears! Tell Me Fears!

by GalekhXigisi



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Child Neglect, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Homophobia, Trans Male Richie Tozier, Trans Richie Tozier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-22 20:01:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21307781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalekhXigisi/pseuds/GalekhXigisi
Summary: It's the second year anniversary of facing Pennywise
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Stanley Uris
Kudos: 46





	Fears! Tell Me Fears!

Richie had learned better than to attempt to sleep after a nightmare. Really, he had learned that when he was just a kid, waking up sobbing, sitting alone in a cold bed that he wished felt like his own. He always wished it felt like his own, but it never did, no matter how much it smelled like him or smelled like his friends when they would come over and fall asleep on the queen-sized mattress, leaving the room smelling horrid by the time they left. It never felt like his own. 

This house didn’t feel like his own, either. Honestly, he thinks that’s the worst of it. This home  _ is _ his. It’s been his own since he was seven, taking notice of each and every family trip his parents took, leaving him behind. He had stopped questioning why he couldn’t come, why they would leave so long. Instead, he would sit silently and listen to the noises that came at night, the noises that came with living in Derry in a too-big house with too-big possessions and too little people. 

Richie had tried to make it his own. He had painted the walls with Stanley when they were ten, painting them blue, pink, and white. They had the ladders that went into the garage and only ever came out them. He had made messes and cleaned them all up, leaving stains on the little bits of carpet in the living room and staining the kitchen’s tiles with whatever food he tried to make. He had broken things and bought cheap furniture from a town or two over during the few times the Uris or Denbrough families went out of town and let him come with. 

Hell, he had even bleed everywhere. Between getting his first menstrual cycle and getting into countless fights and all the times he was just busted up from being the dumb piece of shit he was, everything had some form of stain from him. The boy was a blood donation and a half, not that anyone really cared too much. He needed his parents’ legal signature to actually give blood, anyway. He’s sure he could find a shady enough place that would certainly accept a scrawny fifteen-year-old that never once fought back if he thought he deserved something. The accident-prone boy rarely ever fought back if he felt the reason he had gotten hit in the first place was justified. 

It marked the two year anniversary from the fight with Pennywise, with  _ It. _ The losers had lost their shit that day, had broken and reformed, had had their world changed a million different ways. 

Richie remembers every single second of it. He even remembers being in the deadlights himself, snatched up with Beverly, the two caught together. Richie was never scared of clowns. No, no, he acted like he was, of  _ course, _ he did. It was so much easier than saying that he was truly scared of what hid underneath his shirt and of the two boys that made his stomach flutter and heart beat a little faster. He remembers the doll in the coffin with long hair and a lace skirt, bows adorning the long, curly locks and tying around their waist like a belt. He remembered the soft features and chest that was far too large to  _ not _ be noticeable. It all sat so fresh in his dreams, just like the poster that had a picture just like that, the words  _ Rosemary Tozier _ burnt into his retinas and night terrors alike. 

The deadlights weren’t fun, either. Watching everyone die, watching everyone get torn apart and tossed like a ragdoll… Beverly had tried to talk to Richie about it, had told him about what she’d seen, but Richie could never offer anything in return. He could listen, could take in her words, but that was it. He could never help. He could never reciprocate that level of trust and comfort. 

When he had gotten home that day, he had broken down in sobs, shattering beneath the weight of everything. He had collapsed on the living room floor and cried until his brain got so overwhelmed that he just  _ blacked out. _ It was so incredibly rare for Richie to get so overwhelmed by his emotions that he just  _ shut off, _ but it hadn’t been the first time it happened, nor was it the last. The entire next week had been full of break downs and full of blacking out. He never told the losers, never let them know about the faltering  _ Trashmouth. _

He presses a cigarette to his lips, sitting on his room with his back pressed to his window seal. It had been two years since their fight, which meant two years, three hundred, and seventeen days since he had last seen his parents. He didn’t want to be counting anymore, but he had to keep track of everything  _ somehow. _ He had the anniversaries written on his calendar in blue and red ink. For Pennywise, he had drawn a red balloon. And for his parents, he had just written  _ Year 3. _ He still got their mailed checks and they still got his mailed grades, so there wasn’t very much to worry about. They knew they were alive, knew they were still breathing. 

He wonders what the other losers are doing. He knew Beverly and Bill were both staying at Ben’s house, his family out of town for the week. They were probably spending it all together, watching movies and eating junk food while talking about how shitty the movies were. Maybe Stan was staying witn Eddie? Or Mike? Or maybe both boys were staying with Eddie… From what he could tell, Miss Kaspbrak never actually minded Stan or Mike. She had thought they kept Eddie out of trouble, kept him from pushing his limits too much. Then again, she never had any evidence against that, or against ben, so the three boys had the best of good graces in the woman’s books, even if they had presented her with Eddie’s broken arm one day. Apparently, that got a pass on her books. 

Richie takes a long drag, legs folded beneath him. 

_ Don’t touch the other boys, Richie. _

He squeezes his eyes closed, huffing it out before he can even get a genuine drag out of the cigarette. 

_ Don’t or they’ll know your secret. _

He coughs into his elbow, squeezing the filter on the cigarette. He doesn’t break it, doesn’t even get near it as he forces down those coughs. His chest hurts anyway. Between falling asleep in his bindings, having a panic attack with them on the instant he woke up, and having wrapped them tighter while still wearing them now, he’s surprised he didn’t cough the instant he did his first pull instead of his near last. He could only take two more before the filter was close to getting lit. It’s never fun when he burns like that. 

“It’s  _ my _ dirty little secret,” he says, teeth gritting as he squeezes the last few dying embers in his palm. 

  
The  _ R + E + S  _ would forever be his own fucking secret, one he had carved himself, one that he doesn’t need anyone else discovering. He’s sure others have seen it, sure someone had pieced it together, but no one had said anything yet. There still stood the bathroom graffiti that read  _ Richie Tozier Sucks Flamer Cock, _ but that was something that had spread over the course of just three days, lighting the entire school up. The only person that really knew that any of that was true was Beverly, who had talked about it when she talked about the deadlights and what she had seen. She had talked about the shared kiss between Stan and Richie, about the whispered nothings with Richie and Eddie, about the sweet reassurances with Eddie and Stanley. She had even talked about the three living together in an apartment during college, something that she hadn’t gotten much insight on but Richie certainly had, that was for sure. He didn’t tell her about any of it, didn’t confirm or deny anything. He hadn’t with anyone. He didn’t like thinking about the relationship’s harsh demise, anyway. 

Now, he tries to just breathe. 

It’s all so much and so little. Richie hates it. 

He turns his eyes towards the shingles and tries not to think about what today was. 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments! I love them!
> 
> here's my discord server!  
https://discord.gg/eGkwayy


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